


The Measure of Flight

by VesperRegina



Category: Galileo (TV Japan)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperRegina/pseuds/VesperRegina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghosts, teleportation; what's the difference, anyway?  (Set during S01E08, "Sees.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Measure of Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maewen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewen/gifts).



> Any remaining awkward turns of phrases, superfluous commas, and missing words are not the fault of my wonderful beta, Lyl. The tiny postscript to this is entirely self-indulgent and hasn't been checked by her.

Yukawa walks away from her and Utsumi fumes. No answer means he's not willing to debate with her any longer over something theoretical. Ghosts, teleportation; what's the difference, anyway? He wants to get out of the cold and she could go a few more rounds of trying to understand him via poking him to see his reactions. Instead she settles for mouthing at his back as she slows down... he's not going anywhere without her. Maeda Chiaki lives in a nice, almost upscale, neighborhood which is even prettier at night; it's atmospheric in the cold and the sound of the highway is somehow comforting rather than annoying, regardless of how the distance of the only available parking makes for an uncomfortable walk. Utsumi lets Yukawa go ahead, ignoring that forcing him to wait for her to catch up is passive-aggressive revenge.

She gives Yukawa a false smile when he turns to check her progress, but she doesn't rush to catch up to him. The wall to their right ends, giving way to pools of light in a playground, with a swing set, and a tower of slides and ladders. It's empty, but for a moment, Utsumi imagines how it would sound during the day -- shouts of children playing, chains of swings groaning -- and her steps slow again. The swings are swaying though there's no wind, and a shiver goes down Utsumi's back, even as she takes a step forward. It's ill-considered timing -- to go for a swing and try to reach the stars. She has to break the enchantment by shaking her head and turning away from the lure of it. 

She chases after Yukawa again, passing him. "It's cold," she calls back to him. "Let me take you home."

She gets no argument from him and the mood to battle with him has deserted her, too. In the car, she turns her vents to full blast, hoping to take the chill out of her bones.

 

Chiaki expresses thanks, but Yukawa's revelation weighs somber on them all. Chiaki helps them disassemble the mannequin and clothes. Utsumi has no choice but to wear the red coat again, though it almost feels disrespectful now, to have played the trick that illustrated Kanazawa Yoriko's betrayal. Chiaki assures them she'll be okay, and Yukawa and Utsumi take their leave, quiet in their walk back to Utsumi's car.

It doesn't always carry the clarity of a victory -- these times when they lay the truth out like this, like a gutted fish -- it's not always a relief or a comfort. It hangs around them, darkening everything. Looking to Yukawa to gauge the silence only reveals that he seems lost inside whatever maze lies between his ears, as he helps her place the mannequin in the trunk of her car. The urge to delve in and explore is an itch in between Utsumi's shoulders, something she can't scratch because she can't reach it. She shoves the rest of their setup into the car, checking to make sure nothing will be caught outside the lid, and slams the lid down on her trunk. Yukawa has already drifted to the passenger side of the car. Utsumi says, "Sensei, we're not leaving just yet."

That gets his attention, of course. She starts off, back toward Chiaki's building, back to the playground, back to something she knows will calm her down.

Yukawa asks, "What is it?"

Utsumi shakes her head, and then says, just as he reaches her side, "You didn't find any proof of teleportation, right? And that bothers you, doesn't it, because this is just another case of nothing supernatural, isn't it?"

She doesn't slow her pace, and for once, even though he can easily keep stride with her, he has to adjust, and she's almost sure he's struggling with it. And, for once, she couldn't care less. She's not making this a competition of any kind. It's just a passing blip across her awareness.

"It wasn't an answer you wanted," Yukawa observes. His neat side-stepping of what she's trying to get at -- her confusion over why this kind of thing matters so much to him -- chafes Utsumi's temper raw.

"Neither did you. It's a disappointment, not just for us, but for Chiaki. You're just in it for finding some kind of evidence of the strange. You're always looking for proof."

She's working herself up into a righteous snit, and she can feel it, winding heat in her palms and chest, and the tightness of breath in her lungs. She slows down, forcing her steps into measurement, careful placement.

"You're not going back to Chiaki's, are you?"

"No."

The playground is just like it was when they'd passed it earlier in the week: empty, a bit spooky, just like before, even with the bright light of the lamps. Utsumi heads straight for a swing, backing into it and walking back until the tips of her toes are the only thing touching the ground and then she's gliding through air.

Yukawa stands, and she's thoroughly confused him; she can see it in the tilt of his chin, stiff and uncomfortable. It's strange that she's reading him so much better now, even as unsettled as she is, or maybe just being in the swing has already started to work on settling her down. She says, "Don't tell me you didn't swing when you were little. Sit down. Join me."

He puts his hands into the pockets of his coat, pulling the fullness of it in front, and he sits in the swing beside her. He just sits, and Utsumi shrugs, propelling herself again by digging one toe into the soft bark below her, daring herself to go up as high as she can.

The movement is ritualistic, soothing, and a lot of work. She describes an oval with her parted feet, as she reaches the top of her arc, following through to the backswing with her legs together, almost as though she's parting water, in a swim. The rush of air against her eyes stings at the corners, starts them watering, so she closes her eyes. It's really too cold to be out swinging in the dark, in a playground that's not meant for them, but apart from inconveniencing Yukawa's time, there's no reason not to indulge this childish pastime. In a matter of seconds, she can feel lift below her, and this is the closest anyone could get to flying under their own power. If she were smaller, she might even dare to jump.

Yukawa says, "It's not just that."

"What?" She rushes past him, before she can see his face, instead getting a glimpse of it and then his back. She stretches her legs down, scrapes her feet against the ground, slowing down. The crunch and slide is a rough, but satisfying sound. 

Yukawa waits until Utsumi isn't casting dirt and bark from the grooves beneath her feet, but she still hasn't slowed all the way down when he speaks. "It's not that different. The search for evidence."

"Oh."

"You have your work and I have mine."

"But you're only interested in the proof." She can't argue effectively when she can't see his face, and she's slowed down enough that she can jolt to a stop, almost tripping off the swing.

"So are you."

Once stopped, however, there's no fight that she can find, even though her heart is racing as though she's preparing herself for one, the result of her exertion. She says, "I don't get it. I can get your attention by dangling these weird things in front of your nose, but always, there's some explanation for it. How can it be impossible for there to be ghosts? Teleportation is more likely? I don't believe that. What's so hard about believing in something for belief's sake?"

"It all comes down to the observable."

Grit is in her shoe. She raises her foot so she can slip off the short-heeled pump and taps the dirt out of it. "So you say." 

"Let's take an example from this. If you saw a swing moving in an empty playground, what would be the likely reasons for it?" Yukawa takes one hand out of his pocket; uses it to weigh options. Utsumi closes her mouth and keeps her answer to herself. She slips her shoe back on. "Some outside force is to blame. Wind or you've come along too late to see someone who's left. You'd think it would be a ghost, but no, there're other reasons for it."

"My grandmother tells me that she's still visited by the spirit of her husband."

"Still subjective."

"So tell me. If you're not looking for a reason for the subjective, how come I can get you interested so easily? You really want it to be true, don't you? Where's the logic in that? What would you do if that logic didn't exist at all?"

"Those sound more like questions for argument's sake, or possibly, a priest."

"A priest?" Utsumi asks.

Yukawa sticks his legs out straight ahead of him and gives her a look side-long. Utsumi blinks and then feels a spike of amusement. She turns her head away and gets her smile under control. It's uncertain whether he meant to bait her or not.

She says, "Okay, so my questions don't have any foundation for reason, only theory, and that doesn't give them any value for discussion, I guess. Forget I asked, then, and just swing with me."

He looks away, taking a breath, and buries his hand back inside his pocket, drawing his legs back again. Utsumi blinks. She asks, "Do you... do you not like to swing, Sensei?"

His silence goes on long enough that she almost regrets the question. "It used to make me dizzy," he offers, eventually.

"Used to? So you're too scared to try again? How long ago was that?" She starts to smile, and then stops, because whatever humor she's finding in his discomfort is uncalled for... it's not proportionate to his excuse. He won't open up if she behaves like a shark. The little opening he's given her is tempting, but she shouldn't interrogate him. She draws a cross on the ground with her toe, and pushes off again, just enough to set the swing to swaying. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me."

He gets up, leaving the swing to wobble behind him, and a little stab of panic starts her heart into her throat. He's not bound to her or her ability to chauffeur him around. He could leave her here. He could just abandon the conversation like the expert he is at it and -- Utsumi stops her forward motion. "Are you leaving?"

"You seem busy."

"Stay, please, Sensei. I'll take you home or wherever you want, if you'll just keep me company for a little while longer. I'll be quiet."

"That's not necessary."

"You're just saying that. You really want me to shut up right now."

He puffs himself up, as though he's about to argue, and then deflates. He nods and sits back down in the swing, and Utsumi examines him out of the corner of her eye. It's harder than she expects to be quiet, head buzzing with curiosity and the exhaustion of the day wearing down on her shoulders. It's a last splutter of energy, and all she needs is to wait it out, let go of everything that weighs down.

She closes her eyes, throws herself back into the rhythm of false flight. It's only a few minutes, though she hasn't tracked the time and doesn't know if that's so, that the flow of air around her changes, and she has to check her suspicion that she's not alone in her swinging. When she opens her eyes, it's like waking from a dream, the shift from the darkness of behind her eyes to the brighter gleam of the lit night. Adaptation is slow and she almost disbelieves what she sees.

Yukawa is swinging, not as high as Utsumi, but the effort is there, even though he only has his arms around the chains of the swing. He catches her watching him, and the resentful amusement on his face is worth the price of her silence, and confirmation that there's a story there that he just doesn't want to share. Her face goes soft, admiring, and she swallows down an encouraging smile. She closes her eyes again and flies.

 

He seems to fall asleep in her car, his head bent forward in an awkward pose, until they've almost reached their destination. His words are clear, however, when he says, "You have good form on the swings." 

He has his eyes closed when she snaps her head to look at him, unsure of what he said. She doesn't ask him to repeat what he said, because it's just as awkward as his pose, to ask him to say them again. Running them over in her head is enough. Instead of directly acknowledging the compliment she says, "Thanks for staying."

He could be smiling. It's hard to see in the darkness. The rare feeling blooming in her chest, when she probes it, resolves into contentment.


End file.
